


Pas de coeur

by the_blue_morning



Category: Downton Abbey, The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Attempted Rape, Clexa Centric, Clexaweek2020, Clexaweek2020 Day 6, Day 6 Historical/Period drama, Downton Abbey AU, F/F, Fluff, Historical/Period drama, Humour, If you have any questions about this last tag do not hesitate to ask me in the comments, It gets more angsty when we progress into the fic, It's mostly the historical setting, No need to know anything about Downton Abbey to read it, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Period Typical Attitudes, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rated M because of the attempted rape scene, be safe, but it's not all angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-06
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:28:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23040235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_blue_morning/pseuds/the_blue_morning
Summary: Lady Alexandria Woods is the oldest daughter of a Lord, and is as such set to marry the heir to the family's estate and preside over the people of the county as her ancestors before her.In comes Clarke Griffin, a farmer's daughter, who has been hired to be her lady's maid and whose presence might just change everything...
Relationships: Clarke Griffin/Lexa, minor Octavia Blake/Lincoln - Relationship
Comments: 60
Kudos: 157





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title translation: 'Pas de coeur' is polysemic. It means "no heart", it also means "steps of the heart", as in the steps one might take on the path to love, or even the rythm of a heart.
> 
> Thank you so much to eris223 for being my beta for this fic, you have really helped a lot and I am so grateful! You're the best, thank you thank you thank you.
> 
> If you have not yet read them, please go and read her fics, they are absolutely brilliant. :D

> _"This royal throne of kings, this sceptred isle,_
> 
> _This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars,_
> 
> _This other Eden, demi-paradise,_
> 
> _This fortress built by Nature for her self_
> 
> _Against infection and the hand of war,_
> 
> _This happy breed of men, this little world,_
> 
> _This precious stone set in a silver sea_
> 
> _Which serves it in the office of a wall_
> 
> _Or as a moat defensive to a house,_
> 
> _Against the envy of less happier lands,_
> 
> _This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England."_

_Richard II_ , William Shakespeare.

* * *

**_October the 27th,_ _1912_ **

The house was filled with the fast footsteps of the keepers, valets, footmen, and maids walking around in practiced fashion to arrange everything for luncheon.

"Octavia, hurry on and get the fires burning in those chimneys. Quick, quick!"

The young maid obeyed Indra's authoritative voice and barely had time to shyly smile at Lincoln as she crossed his path. The footman carried a tray, there was no time to stop. Octavia settled down onto her knees and started lighting the fire in the living room, hands darkening rather fast.

"God, how dark is it in here?", Raven exclaimed as she came into the room carrying fresh linen. "O, did you not turn the light on? That's what electricity is for, you know."

Octavia spared her a sheepish look for a second before she focused back on the task at hand. "It scares me,’ she admitted with a shrug.

"Well,” Indra said as she came in. "You'll have to get used to it. I heard in some castles they even have it in the kitchen."

Octavia's mouth opened round like a fish out of water. "What for?!"

The hustle to have everything ready in time went on as each member of the household played their part.

"Her Ladyship will be awake soon enough,” Indra said after a moment. "I will go attend to her. Please, everyone remain focused on your tasks while I cannot watch over you all! Oh, and Raven, do not forget to help Lady Alexandria before you attend to Lady Anya today. The new maid has yet to arrive - she can start attending to his Lordship's oldest daughter tomorrow."

Her curiosity piqued, Octavia looked away from the fire she was building to turn towards Indra. "When's she coming? Today?" Finally, exciting news. A new face was about to join their world down the stairs of the house.

"She's expected tonight apparently. Her train will be in at 6."

An excited chatter broke out among the estate's workers, but they were soon ushered back to work by Indra's strong voice. The short-haired woman finally left the room, going up the stairs to help her Ladyship dress for the day. Raven soon followed her example and went to knock on Lady Alexandria's door. She was not surprised when it swung open to reveal Lady Anya's tall and muscular frame.

"Reyes", his Lordship's second daughter welcomed her in with a smile. "Why, you've come to attend my sister. I believe I might get jealous."

The dark-haired lady’s maid forced back a furious blush as she entered the room, and the door was closed behind her. Alexandria was seated in a nightgown upon her dark blue sheets, brown curls in disarray around her flawless face.

"My lady", Raven greeted her with a small curtsy, bowing her head as a sign of respect. "Indra's told me your personal maid is to arrive tonight - she will start service tomorrow. I'm to see to you for the time being."

The woman simply nodded in acceptance and smiled politely. She stood up and walked over to the huge wood closet where Raven had started rummaging.

"Any color preference for today? Seeing as you will be meeting your fiancé, I would humbly suggest something rather colourful. My mother always said no man wants to kiss a woman in black."

Lady Alexandria's plump lips curled into a small smile, as though this was funny to her, and she nodded her consent. "Colour it is, then,” she said. "You can pick any you'd like. I do not mind."

Restraining herself from clapping excitedly, Raven shuffled through the numerous dresses in the closet once more, feeling but ignoring Lady Anya's burning gaze on her back.

"How about green, my lady? It will compliment your eyes. I'm sure it'll look lovely."

Raven helped the Woods family's oldest child into the tightly fitted green dress in very little time, experienced as she was in the matter. She then proceeded to braid the brunette's lovely hair into a half updo style that made the gorgeous column of her neck stand out.

"Thank you, Reyes,” the woman finally said when they were done, admiring the maid's work in the mirror. "You truly are wonderful."

Raven's proud smile soon turned into a blush when Lady Anya's quiet laughter rang from the seat she had taken on the bed.

"Shall we head to my room then, Reyes? My dresses wait for your talented hands."

God, this woman would be the end of her.

As they walked the corridors, leaving Lady Alexandria to read in her rooms, Raven was soon approached by Octavia. She dropped her voice so as to not be heard by Lady Anya, "The new maid has arrived early. She'll be eating with us later."

Raven's eyebrow lifted in surprise, but she did not have time to reply as her excited friend was already gone, laughter on her young lips. This day promised to be interesting.

* * *

Clarke found herself just past a domestic servants' entry, a small bag containing her belongings at her feet, her future wide open before her very eyes. This house with all the stairs and the flowers, the luxury and the maids...This would be the start of a new chapter.

She rung the bell and soon heard the telltale signs of someone coming down to see her. She looked down at her modest dress in haste, trying to smooth her travel-dishevelled blonde hair. Despite taking the morning train and arriving early, Clarke was still anxious to be introduced to her new housemates.

A tall woman with short black hair and dark skin soon appeared on the staircase, followed by another woman with long brown hair done up and a giddy smile.

"You're Clarke Griffin?" The first woman's voice was stern, demanding a direct answer. "My name's Mrs. Indra Trikru. I’m the housekeeper."

"I am,” Clarke answered. She clasped her hands together in front of her, playing with the handle of her small travel bag. "Glad to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Trikru."

The woman nodded and turned around, not bothering to reply as she motioned for the blonde to follow her up the stairs. Octavia walked beside her, and soon, the three women found themselves in the kitchens, where everyone was running around in circles, peeling vegetables and carrying trays. Clarke took it all in. It was oh so very different from the small house she had grown up in in the city, and she would have to grow accustomed to this new way of living.

"Octavia will show you to your room later,” Indra's voice came again from Clarke's right. "Right now, she needs to finish her duties. You're free to take a look at the house, for the time being, become familiar with it. It'll come in handy once you need to follow orders in too little time for a human being."

Clarke nodded, smiling gratefully at Octavia when the girl offered to take her bag and store it away for now. She watched the footmen and maids come and go for a little while before she decided to follow Indra's advice and wandered out of the kitchen. She walked through several corridors, all so beautifully decorated it made her dizzy. There was a sense of pride and dignity oozing from the royal blue of the walls, the golden ornaments, and the chandeliers, a sight as unfamiliar to Clarke as the Garden of Eden.

Her mindless wandering soon brought her into a great hall, so tall she had to bend her neck backwards to admire the painted ceilings. There were portraits on the walls, of family members from ancient times, in majestic golden frames. It all led to a staircase, grander and more beautiful than the one she had taken leading to the kitchens from the servant's entrance. A tall blonde maid passed her, walking rather quickly with her arms full of dresses Clarke would only ever dream of touching, and she smiled at her in passing. Her skin was rather pale and her eyes kind and warm. Clarke found herself smiling back, almost disappointed to see her leave her sight so soon.

Distraction gone, Clarke went back to her exploration. She started her ascent of the stairs, not daring to place her dirty hands on the flawless railings. She was in awe of the house, but it was also terribly intimidating. She was to live in such luxury, and yet none of it was hers. What a strange life servants led.

Arriving upstairs, Clarke started to lose herself among the corridors once more - she could still hear Indra's voice barking orders somewhere far into the distance. Walking by a door, she was surprised to find it opening.

"Raven- Oh. You must be the new maid. I thought I heard someone." The woman with dirty blonde hair and high cheekbones assessed Clarke up and down with eagle-like eyes. "My sister has been taken care of for the day, you don't need to run to her right now."

Clarke had known that already, but this woman seemed to be one of the estate's ladies, so she humbly curtsied and answered with a polite, "Yes, my lady." The woman - Anya, if Clarke remembered what she had been told correctly - seemed to think for a moment, eyes fixed on the newcomer before her lips stretched into a teasing smile. "I think she'll like you alright."

Then the door was closed again, and Clarke was left to ponder over her words in silence. Right.

Shaking her head, Clarke resumed her walking, determined to get back to the kitchens for the servants' lunch before they started without her. All the way back down, she tried to make sense of the lady's words. Could it be that the Lady Alexandria...? No, most certainly not. Clarke could not let her mind wander off in such dangerous territory.

If anything, the smile on the other maid she’d seen earlier gave her more hope in such things than was truly needed. Clarke was here to work, after all, not to let herself be led into languorous and forbidden affairs with pretty young women. Especially not if the woman was a lady, that would just call for a disaster.

* * *

Lunchtime, as always, was frantic for the servants. The valets came and went from the dinner table where the guests were settling down, while the maids worked down in the kitchens, arranging the plates. Today especially was to be perfect, for the estate's heir, thus their future employer, had come to visit the family.

Mrs. Woods smiled politely as Finn Collins greeted her before they all sat around the table. She nervously looked around. Their guest was seated next to Mr. Woods, Collins’ father on the other side. Then came Anya, herself, and on the other side was her youngest child Madison, leaving an open seat next to her where Alexandria should be.

Trying to be discreet, the mother spoke in hushed words, head down, to her second daughter. "Anya, dear, where's your sister? She's not usually late. This has to be on purpose." She looked up at the ceiling, shook her head, and took a deep breath. "She did promise not to make a scene."

Anya did not answer. What was she to say?

"Oh, dear, there she comes,” the older woman finally exhaled in relief as Alexandria was escorted into the room by a valet. Dressed in black from head to toe.

There were a few widening eyes, a quiet gasp, and a refrained bout of laughter from young Madison.

"Oh my," Alexandria said, placing her hand in front of her open mouth in an exaggerated show of surprise. "I am sorry for coming down so late. I'm afraid I didn't realize how late the hour was. Dear Mr. Collins! What a joy it is to see you again."

He nodded stiffly, and she sat, smoothing two gloved hands over the dark fabric of her dress.

"As am I, Alexandria, as am I."

Tilting his head to the side in the exact manner the eldest Woods daughter always did, Mr. Woods addressed his child, holding his glass out to be filled by a footman. "Dear God, Lexa, what happened? Who is it you're grieving?"

Meeting his amused gaze, the young woman decided to play along. "I woke up this morning with a strong love for the colour black. Quite odd, is it not?" She forced herself not to glance at Finn, swallowing down a pleased smirk at the knowledge that he would be scowling. "Is it not so easily discarded for the associations we often give it? I find it so very elegant, Papa, I don't think I ought to be grieving anyone to be allowed to wear it."

Mr. Woods hid his fond smile into his glass of wine, but Mrs. Woods was far less amused.

"I do believe the associations you speak of are too strong to simply be put aside. The sight of these clothes in such a joyful event as this simply makes me uncomfortable. Had you not come so late, I would have had you change." Of course, she suspected her daughter had anticipated that.

"There's no need,” Finn's father, Mr. Collins, spoke for the first time. "Please, this is your home. There's no need to change."

Finn looked like he wanted to disagree, but his father's hand settling on his arm was enough to stop whatever words he had planned on saying. Instead, he nodded once again, trying to hide his irritation. "Of course, I agree. I was going to ask, Alexandria, would you mind taking a stroll in the gardens with me after lunch? I was hoping to speak to you."

Had the brunette wanted to decline, she couldn't have. He was a distant cousin, the heir to everything her father had worked for, and they were engaged after all. This union was the only way to ensure the estate would stay in her family. Her parents had had three living children, all daughters, and the laws of inheritance forbade her from claiming the money and title for herself as she was but a female offspring. And so with every member of said family looking at her, Alexandria did her duty. "Of course, Finn. It will be my pleasure."

* * *

After the rush hour of lunch when the family and their guests had forgone the table, Clarke was shown to her room by Octavia as promised. They were coming down from settling her suitcase on the bed, Octavia chatting excitedly about how rare it was to see new people around here and how happy she was that Clarke would be joining them.

"Indra can look rather demanding and stern, but you'll soon see how much of a mother she can be to all of us. She's scary sometimes, but we all love her."

Clarke smiled at the young brunette. Judging from her features and the wild look in her eyes, she must have been a few years younger than Clarke herself. The blonde had recently celebrated her twenty-second birthday.

Once they arrived down the stairs, Clarke started to walk towards the door.

"My, I can't believe I haven't been to see the garden yet! I must; I'm sure it's beautiful."

Her hand was almost on the handle when Octavia's grip fell around her wrist. "What-"

The brunette tugged her toward the window, and through the glass, they could see a couple walking through the gardens. The man was quite handsome with ear long chestnut hair and a haughty look on his face, while the woman was dressed all in black, gorgeous brown curls cascading down her back. She had a hand half-heartedly resting upon his arm, and a bored look on her face as the man seemed to listen to himself talk without ever pausing.

"Master Finn and Miss Alexandria are walking. We can't bother them," Octavia explained. But the blonde could not even remember what she had been thinking before, for this woman looked like an angel come to take her to hell, and Clarke had no idea how she would ever survive attending to her every day. Who needed to see the garden when such a creature walked its grounds?

And so, finally, she had seen her. The infamous Lady Alexandria Woods. Truly, what a sight.

* * *

"You should have seen his face," a valet said as he grabbed a piece of bread. "He was livid! Don't think I've ever seen him so angry."

Gustus, the butler, sent him a scolding gaze - he never did like for the servants to speak in such a way of the family - but it was not enough to dampen the jovial mood in the room. Octavia laughed as she imagined the scene, earning a fond smile from Lincoln. They were all gathered around the servants' dinner table in the kitchen, breaking their fast before they had to attend to the house and the family members before they'd head to bed. Clarke did not say much, preferring, as a newcomer, to observe the way they all interacted. It was heartwarming to see.

"You know, she actually changed," Raven said with an amused smile, shaking her head. She almost looked admirative. "I'd helped her into one of her green gowns, and she went and changed all on her own. I love it."

Indra gave her a stern gaze at the comment, but Raven only hid her smile with a glass of water. There was a happy atmosphere floating around the little group, and Clarke felt warm inside, watching them laugh and talk of the Lady Alexandria they all cared deeply for in the way loyal servants do. The more she learned about her, the more intrigued she was. And the memory of her graceful frame gliding through the gardens, a bored look on her gorgeous face...

Clarke Griffin would need to watch herself.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I have decided to post chapter 2 today for two reasons:
> 
> 1)It's my birthday (and posting on your birthday is fun :D)  
> 2)My country is in lockdown and we all need some cheering up in those strange times we're living sooo, here we go!
> 
> This chapter is more angsty than the previous one, you've been warned! But it's long (almost 9k which is a lot for me), so hopefully it can take your mind off things for a little while. :)
> 
> Before I leave you to your reading, I would like to thank my beta eris223 for making this story better and for keeping me motivated, she's truly the best and you should go and read her works if you have not, they're sooo good. (shoutout to my friend Ju as well for her advice and her comments, love you sm!)

> _“Be not afraid of greatness. Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and others have greatness thrust upon them.”_  
>  ― William Shakespeare _, Twelfth Night_

There was warmth on her face, the kind only the yellow light of early mornings could ever kiss, and the rustle of things in the corridors. Footsteps, muffled voices, cutlery on platters. It all felt full and comfortable, a heavy cloud wrapped around her body like a cloak.

“Clarke?”

There was a knock on the door, and it creaked slightly as a face appeared in the small opening.

“Oh dear, I did think I didn’t see you around! Come on up, now! The Lady Alexandria will be up and waiting! Chop chop!”

And with those words, Octavia was gone again, and Clarke was left to her panic.

Sitting up, she frantically looked around the room, looking for her clothes. How had she not heard anything? She almost tore a hole in her tights as she pulled them on, not bothering to smooth the wrinkles out of the simple dark dress she had been given as uniform. There was no time for that.

Exhaling loudly, the blonde grabbed her hairbrush and bent down to look at her own face in the mirror. Had she managed to wake up on time she would have sat at the dresser and meticulously wrapped her bright locks into a tidy and professional chignon. As it were, she took most of the knots out of the strands and hastily pulled them together into a low and messy bun, covering it all with the headpiece that went with the dress. She straightened up and watched as her own reddened face in the glass. Blimey, she looked a fright. But then again, this would have to do.

The rush through the corridors of the house felt like a blur – asking around for the right way but forgetting the voice and the face of the person who had answered as soon as they were out of sight; having her pale blue eyes blinded by the harsh sunlight as she turned a corner where it had once been dark, and finally arriving before a wooden door, dark and heavy and tall, and trying to control the rapid rise and fall of her chest.

She raised her hand, hesitated. Who knew how the Lady would react? Would she be disappointed; would she be sharp? Or would she smile, kind and forgiving, a true maiden right out of a fairy book?

There was only one way to know. Keeping in mind the memory of the brown-haired beauty she had seen strolling along the gardens with a melancholic look on her face, Clarke’s fist finally met the door, making three successive sounds erupt in the quiet corridor.

“Come in.” Neutral, stern. Authoritative.

Clarke pushed the door open, feeling like a child, peaking into the kitchen at night to steal a piece of chocolate and worrying about her mother being up still, waiting around just to catch her in her theft. Small, young, unknowing.

She closed the door behind her, and lowered her eyes as she bowed lightly. There the Lady was, sitting before her own mirror, sliding a comb through her dark waves in a way that felt both inexperienced and graceful. She sat straight, guarded, and distant in the comfort of her bedroom, a place where others would be most soft and vulnerable. She looked at Clarke with green and searching eyes.

“You’re to be my new lady’s maid. Griffin, is it?”

Startled at the lack of proper greeting, Clarke almost stuttered when she answered. “Yes, my lady, Clarke Griffin. Pleased and honored to make your acquaintance. I’m very sorry to’ve come down so late, I can’t believe I didn’t wake up, I hadn’t been so comfortable in such a long time-”

“Please”, the lady cut her off, gesturing to the comb now resting atop the dressing table. “I do believe you’ve made me late enough. I’d like to get this over with if you’d be so kind as to actually do what you’re being paid for. I do have things to attend to. My sisters and I will be going on a ride with the horses in the afternoon.”

Clarke felt the shame of it all rise in her cheeks under the disguise of a furious blush, and she quickly made her way to the young woman, picking up the small golden item where a pale hand had placed it. She started running it through the woman’s dark hair, avoiding her hard and probing gaze in the mirror. It felt appraising, judgmental, and unimpressed – but Clarke could almost swear she saw it linger over the curve of her chest a little longer than appropriate. Almost.

The blonde focused on her work for a moment, gently tugging the little braids into an elaborate updo fashionable in the well-born society. The hair felt soft under her fingertips, and a delicate smell of fresh soap and flowers emanated from the top of her head.

“You should know I will not tolerate such behaviour in the future.” The Lady’s voice forced Clarke out of her reverie, and she looked up to meet the forest green in the reflection. “I was raised to expect better from the people we pay and trust to assist us in our everyday lives. I trust you understand I cannot, and will not, keep you here if you arrive at my door an hour late and looking like you just walked out of a brothel.”

Clarke could not keep the frown off her brow.

“Now, tomorrow shall be your last chance. You might want to be up at the crack of dawn and to come to me as properly dressed as you would should you meet the Queen of our sacred country.” She looked to the window, a distracted look entering the light green of her eyes. “You have been blessed and honoured with a place in a respectable home, Miss Griffin. You would do well to remember there are countless others waiting to step in should you fail to meet my demands. Do you understand?”

Oh, Clarke should have looked down and blushed in shame again, drowned in the weight of her mistake, promised to never be so foolish again, and begged her forgiving mistress to let her prove herself worthy of her trust. But instead, Clarke felt angry. Offended. Chastised. And as she was in no place to simply voice her displeasure, she resolutely met the Lady’s gaze in the mirror, solid and unflinching. They battled for a moment, silent and unmoving, tensely staring each other down.

“Of course,” the blonde finally said, still holding those eyes with just as much intent. Her voice came out clear as water, levelled and controlled. “I understand, my lady. Now, I’m actually finished. Shall I help you dress?”

No more words were exchanged as the clothes were chosen, nor did they speak as Clarke pulled at the strings of the fabric, closing it snugly around the woman’s waist. There was energy around them, heavy and electric, and Clarke didn’t know if she wanted to slap her condescending face or kiss her within an inch of her life. She felt soft and inviting under the professional movements of her hands yet so very cold and superior as she gazed down at her. It was infuriating, and she was glad to finally breathe when she was dismissed and stepped out of the room.

As she walked down to the kitchens, head light and fuzzy with anger and the unwanted little tingles of lust, Clarke realized this had been her very first interaction with the woman she would be looking after for – hopefully - quite a while.

Dear me, were they off to a great start.

* * *

Clarke was down the stairs of the house, organizing the family’s laundry with Raven, when Octavia pushed the door open, looking as though she’d just run down the stairs. Knowing the girl and her inability to stay still, she probably had.

“It’s started to rain,” she said, her chest heaving and her face all red. “There’s a storm coming, so they’ve not gone riding. Lady Madison is organizing an afternoon of putting outfits together. They’re waiting for the two of you in her rooms.”

Clarke set the skirt she was ironing down onto the counter and went about washing her hands, throwing Raven a questioning look.

“It’s a thing they like to do sometimes,” the dark haired lady’s maid shrugged. “Ever fancied yourself a model?”

Now, that would be interesting. Clarke’s eyebrows flew up to her hairline.

“You mean they’ll let us try on their clothes?”

Octavia started leading them up the stairs, and the two maids kept on conversing as they walked.

“Apparently it helps to see the outfits worn by someone else, makes it easier to judge from a distance. It’s quite fun actually.”

Now that they walked the corridors quietly and with no rush, Clarke took time to commit the path to memory. Alexandra’s stern, beautiful face flashed in her mind, and she couldn’t help her disbelief at the idea that such a woman would ever allow a lady’s maid to use something of hers. It was a nice surprise, but it felt quite odd.

Perhaps they would only model Lady Madison’s dresses, she thought as the door came into view at the end of the hall. But then again, the youngest sister was much too small for Clarke to fit into her clothes. Perhaps it was all for the young girl’s enjoyment, then. It made little sense.

Octavia knocked on the wooden door, smiled at the two women, and promptly walked away, leaving them to their own devices. Soon, light burst out and into the corridor as Lady Madison’s young face appeared, still holding the handle to the door. She must have been around 16 or 17 years old, her hair in a simple braid and a long white dress flowing down her body. She had bright blue eyes and dark brown locks, a smile that spoke of youth and a kindness that few in her social circle had displayed around Clarke.

“Oh, good afternoon, Reyes! And you must be Griffin”, she smiled at the blonde, who found herself genuinely smiling back. “Please, come in. We were waiting for you. Lexa has two brand new dresses that need to be styled, and Mother gave Anya some jewelry of hers from the early 1890’s. Isn’t it exciting?”

Lexa. Clarke blinked. How odd to think someone like her would be given an affectionate nickname and be spoken about with such familiarity. It almost made her real.

Convinced by the girl’s energy and the tone of her voice, Clarke could not help but agree with her. It was quite exciting, was it not? It was not every day she got to dress like a Lady after all. Even if Lady Alexandria was an arrogant prick. She would not let the woman put a damper on the experience.

As they walked in and she saw the other two sisters sitting on the bed, the end of a bout of laughter dying on Lady Alexandria’s lips after something Lady Anya had said, Clarke could not help but forget, for a flitting second, the resentment and the anger she harboured for her. Sat on this bed with her sisters, an amused smile on her lips, Lady Alexandria was gone, and there was this _Lexa_ she had just heard about. Lexa. It suited her.

But then the brunette turned to see them lingering by the door, and the cold slapped back onto her face, hardening her features, pale green eyes looking at them over a slightly raised chin.

“Ah, there they are. Let us begin then, shall we?”

In the end, Raven volunteered Clarke to be the model, and as the new girl in the house the blonde had little other option but to abide by the woman’s wishes. She soon found herself standing in very little clothing in the center of the room, the other lady’s maid circling around her and placing varying amounts of jewelry and fabric over her body to try and match colours, guided by the sisters’ instructions and suggestions.

Clarke stared right ahead, keeping her chin up to try and hide her discomfort. It had been quite a while since the last time her body had been under such scrutiny, and though she knew the clothes were the focus and not her own form, she could not help but feel the burning green of Lady Alexandria’s gaze intensely watching her from her seat on the bed.

Raven laughed at something Lady Anya said, a light blush colouring her cheeks, before she fastened a new necklace around Clarke’s neck, the blue stones covering the lines of her clavicles and enhancing the blue of the dress she had been put in. One of Lady Alexandria’s dresses, judging by the size, and Clarke’s breasts were just about ready to spill out of the tight confines.

“Perhaps with the hair tied higher up,” Lady Madison said thoughtfully, standing to see how it looked from the side. “It would make the column of the neck stand out. And Lexa has such a pretty neckline, it will look so refined!”

Raven proceeded to brush Clarke’s hair and style it into a more elaborate updo, her hands quick and professional as she worked.

“No,” Lady Alexandria finally said, eyes slightly narrowed in thought. She had barely spoken since they had started the game, only laughing lightly at some of the things her sisters would say, and the sound of her voice almost startled Clarke, who barely managed to hold back the rosy blush wanting to erupt on her cheeks. “No, that’s not it.”

The brunette stood up and walked closer, a surprised Raven stepping aside to let the future ladyship of the house take her place behind Clarke. Suddenly, the lady’s hands were on her golden locks, and Clarke could feel them rearrange gently. She felt light as a feather, ready to fly away in a moment’s notice. How does one survive a moment of such uncertainty?

Then the hands were gone and the woman’s feet were heard gently tapping against the floor in her black heeled shoes, before she stood before Clarke in all her glorious beauty, a satisfied look on her face.

She lifted a hand, hesitated. Pushed a strand of blonde hair behind an ear, looked intently at the way it curved along the side of her face.

“There,” she murmured to herself. “Much better.”

Clarke could almost feel her breath upon her skin with how close she stood. She felt like a doll, a pretty, useless doll, being dressed and prepared for the lady’s amusement, and she hated it.

But she also burned with the tender flames of a newborn desire to feel the brunette’s touch and attract her gaze, and that she hated even more. Finally, green eyes looked up, meeting Clarke’s blue, questioning eyes. Oh, the moment was short lived, but they could both feel the electricity dancing in the space they shared, and Clarke had no idea if she wanted to spit in her face or still a kiss from her full lips.

But then Lady Madison clapped her hands in excitement, praising her sister for her wonderful idea with the hair, and the moment was over. The Lady Alexandria gracefully sat back on the bed as though nothing had happened.

Still, as they carried on with the dresses, Clarke could have sworn there was a subtle half smile lingering on those full, full lips she was not staring at.

* * *

The family dinner that night was warm and playful, the rain still heavily tapping against the window panes doing nothing to dampen the Woods’ mood. Clarke had exceptionally been given the duty to help and serve the dinner for the night as one of the footmen was feeling unwell, and there were no guests to witness the unconventional service. She stood close to the walls, holding an empty tray and waiting for the right time to fill it with empty plates and bring it back to the kitchen.

“I went into town today,” Lord Woods smiled into his glass of wine as he watched his daughters happily dive into the trays of food covering the long mahogany table. His wife’s eyes trailed up to meet his own at the words, one eyebrow lifted in a silent question.

Anya voiced it for her. “What for?”

“The fair is quickly coming upon us, and they needed my help and counsel on the organization of the event,” he answered, humming in pleasure at the taste of the delicious meal meeting his tongue. “I went to see the pigs we bought last year and had farmer Willis look after, and I have to say...”

He went on with his mindless dinner chatter, but Clarke’s attention had been drawn elsewhere. Sitting opposite to him, in a pastel blue dress that made her look like a sea mermaid right out of a children’s tale, Lady Alexandria had taken to swirling the wine rather suggestively inside her glass, long fingers wrapped around it with more elegance than truly needed, bright eyes watching her over the rim, red painted lips stretched into a mischievous grin. When the wave of heat coursing through her body finally hit Clarke’s cheeks in a great pink hue, the smile turned amused, and the lady looked down minutely, hiding the emotion into the wine.

Clarke looked up, closed her eyes, and breathed. Her hands tightened around the tray, desperately looking to ground her mind. Inevitably, her attention wandered back to the beautiful woman who sat with her hair up and her long neck exposed, and their eyes met yet again. There was a slight blush to the lady’s own skin. She felt her chest swell with pride at the idea, and saw Lady Alexandria’s darkened eyes follow the movement before she noticed Clarke’s full blown smirk and looked away at once, pretending to be absorbed by the conversation occurring around the table.

“Oh, it would be wonderful!” Lady Woods exclaimed, turning her grey eyes on her eldest daughter. “Wouldn’t it, Alexandria?”

Green eyes widened in surprise, having clearly heard nothing of what had been said before. Clarke had to muffle her own satisfied smile, refraining from clearing her throat to regain her composure. She ignored Lady Anya’s burning gaze on the side of her face.

“I’m sure it would,” the young brunette replied with uncertainty, searching for answers in the faces of her loved ones. She soon found her father’s knowing eyes, which fleetingly looked at Clarke before coming back to settle on his daughter’s questioning expression.

“I suggested that you and Finn should come to the fair together,” he explained, and his eldest daughter’s features immediately took on a more serious look.

Clarke was an intelligent woman, and this last interaction had been enough to cement the truth inside her mind. She watched this duty-bound woman swallow her true desires with a new set of eyes. It is so much harder to think ill of someone you understand.

“It would be good for the villagers to see the heirs to the estate,” Lord Woods resumed voicing his trail of thoughts.

“They need the reassuring, strong image of a couple ready to take on the responsibilities of the family grounds,” the mother supplied, completely oblivious to her daughter’s sudden change of emotion. “Finn’s a quite handsome young man, capable of charm and manners. I know he will do well. And you’re a Woods, and an intelligent, beautiful woman. They will love you, I’m certain of it.”

The daughter nodded, neck held high but eyes down on her plate, voice levelled. “Of course, Mother. It will be good for the people.” When she brought the glass of wine to her lips this time, there were no smiles left to hide.

Lady Alexandria, beautiful, beautiful tragedy, was closing in on Clarke with bright eyes and full lips like a giant wave promising to bury her deep underneath the sea for all eternity, and the blonde knew she would not mourn the sunlight for a second.

* * *

As Clarke entered the lady’s room that night to help her prepare for bed, she felt light and excited, a light blush already colouring her cheeks as she gently pushed the door open.

“My lady,” the blonde dipped into a little curtsy, eyes fleeting down respectfully. “I’ve come to help you get ready for the night.”

The brunette turned away from the window she stood by, greeting her lady’s maid with a small smirk that was as confusing as it was alluring. She wore a white shift, hair free and tumbling over one shoulder, and the slit on the side of the night dress let a toned leg slightly show through as she walked to the dressing table and sat on the small bench. “Griffin,” she said, her tone a teasing tilt of light banter. “You’re almost early.”

Grabbing the hairbrush to distract herself from her upcoming wave of embarrassment, Clarke started to gently work the knots out of the soft hair between her fingertips, trying to forget and ignore those intense green eyes drinking her in through the reflection in the mirror.

“Yes, my lady,” Clarke answered respectfully, meeting her gaze in the glass for a second before she focused on the beautiful hair again. “I do apologize again for what happened this morning. I wasn’t-”

“You’ve apologized once before, Clarke, no need to make such a fuss of it.” Her tone was kinder than before, but stern and authoritative still, demanding the maid bow her head and comply.

The blonde opened her mouth, wanting to point out how much of a _fuss_ had been made of it in the morning, but met Lady Alexandria’s gaze again and decided against it. She looked down. The woman’s long fingers had taken to playing with the skirt of her shift, gathering the fabric in her grip above her knee. Clarke did not need any more reason to let herself focus on those gorgeous long legs. She purposefully looked away, well aware of the lady’s knowing eyes carefully watching her school her features back into a mask of control.

“My,” the woman’s voice sounded amused and pleased. It was no surprise to Clarke when she looked into the mirror, hands still working around the locks, to see a grin stretch those lips in sinful ways. The lipstick had been washed away, and yet they looked as inviting as before. “I did not have you pegged as someone so demure when I met you earlier today.”

And Clarke was not. She was strong, outspoken, and unapologetically herself. This was not normal behaviour, and yet it seemed like nothing was ever normal around this woman.

“You’re consistently avoiding my eyes, Griffin, is something the matter?”

Clarke almost choked on her own tongue. She took to tugging at the strands with a little more force instead, arranged them into a braid. If the lady noticed, she did not say.

“Of course not, my lady,” Clarke offered a wobbly smile, trying desperately to conceal her flustered state.

Lady Alexandria had leaned forward to rest her elbows on the dressing table, and dear God up in heaven, Clarke had to make the conscious effort to respectfully avert her eyes as the new position offered her an eyeful of the aristocratic woman’s cleavage. Judging by the look on her face, the brunette knew just what she had done.

Clarke soon came to a stop, the braid finally completed under her skilled fingertips. Sensing this, the lady stood up and turned around to face Clarke, levelling her with a grin. Green eyes left her face to run over her shoulder and breasts, following the curve of the black dress tightly fitted to her body. She let out a little hum of appreciation, gaze flying back up to smirk amusedly at Clarke, who stood like a gaping fish out of the water.

There was nothing about the woman in front of her that corresponded in any way to the one she had first met in the morning, and this blatantly flirting version of the uptight, better-than-thou lady was making her lose her mind.

“I shall be retiring for the night, then,” Lady Alexandria turned around, putting an end to the spell, and the blonde had to shake her head to right herself again. “I will see you tomorrow, Griffin. You’re dismissed.”

With the direct, once more patronizing order, Clarke was out the door, red and trembling in lust, confusion, and embarrassment, bringing to her room the memory of smirking lips and despising green eyes to haunt her through the night.

* * *

The next day had Clarke waking up bright and early, giving her the chance to greet the various members of the household going about their daily tasks on her way to her lady’s chambers. She had neatly and carefully brushed her hair back and into a twisted bun, cleaned and ironed her clothes with more zeal than needed, thoroughly polished her shoes.

It had been a long time since she had last put so much care into her appearance, and it was all to avoid Lady Alexandria’s cold fury. She also wanted to remain in this good position she had found at Downton as a lady’s maid, a position which brought so much pride to her mother.

The way the lady’s eyes danced appreciatively over Clarke’s form when she had come into her room had not played any part in her desire to be well dressed. None at all.

October was coming to an end, the winds of autumn screaming in the branches of the naked apple trees in the gardens, and yet a timid sun had risen in the sky after a night of rain. The blonde’s encounter with the brunette she worked for had been very different the second time around, filled with teasing smiles and suggestive glances instead of stern and cruel verbal jabs.

Clarke, having had her perception awoken by the previous night’s events, could see it now, clear as the light of day, this poorly hidden attraction lingering in those green irises whenever they settled on her. Clarke’s morning could not have gone better.

It was now the light of early afternoons which lit the wood of the floor in Lady Alexandria’s room. The lady had gone out on some errand or another with her mother and sister, and Clarke was left to fold her dresses away, arranging her enormous closet and the myriads of soft fabric it contained.

She could hear Octavia hum to herself behind her as she knelt by the fire, tending to the tender flames that would keep the lady’s room from freezing over once the night draped its stars over the world. The moment was quiet and peaceful, each woman focused on her own work, existing in each other’s presence in a way that felt almost sisterly.

A grin invited itself onto Clarke’s lips at the thought. She had always been an only child; having the people of the house to lean on was a new and welcome feeling to her. Octavia and her endless energy, Raven and her joking nature, Indra and her motherly authority, or perhaps Gustus with his kind, wise counsel; they all interacted in a way that whispered ‘family’ secretly to her heart. It was too early on, of course, to be speaking in such a manner, but Clarke knew, in time, she would join the little group in earnest, and the prospect lulled her into a profound sense of peace.

She was basking in the softness of those wonderful thoughts when the door to the room was thrown open with a deafening _bang._ Clarke looked up, startled, a hand coming up to cover her poor heart hammering with adrenaline in her chest. There Lady Alexandria was, jaw set and grinding so hard Clarke worried it might break, hands tugging hurriedly at her own dress and corset like her life depended on it. She was _fuming_.

“My lady,” Clarke started, walking two steps forward before she was leveled with a glare that sent a shiver of fear down her spine. She stopped in her tracks, chanced a quick glance at Octavia, who was watching the scene with a pair of widened eyes, having gone still as well.

“I need to change into something lighter,” the brunette finally said, anger dripping out of her tone. She did not look at Clarke, choosing to throw herself into the closet instead, hands tugging at dresses her maid had just spent hours folding and organizing. The blonde would have said something, had the brunette’s body not been quite literally vibrating with the strength of her emotion.

The lady turned around, empty handed, and stared at Clarke expectantly. The blonde almost ran to her side, chose a light, stripped green and white dress as quickly as she could and started to unfasten the back of the heavy grey one which currently adorned Lady Alexandria’s form. She could see the lady’s hands still gripping at the front of the grey fabric as though it was a prison she needed escape from, her face turned up, nostrils flaring in search of air.

“My lady, are you alr-”

“I do not believe you are required to speak in order to get me out of this dress, Griffin.”

Seeing her attempt at offering help so brutally dismissed, Clarke gently tried again. The tremble in the brunette’s voice made her uneasy. She did not wish to wonder why. “I was merely asking because I-”

“You were employed for your hands, not your brain. I don’t need you to ask. I don’t even need you to think.”

Clarke stilled, eyebrows furrowing. She could feel her own anger claw its way up her throat bitterly, along with a newborn desire to send this woman to dance in the pits of hell, no matter how much she needed this job. But the lady’s face turned towards her once again.

“Now, Griffin!” Her voice was loud, almost a groan, tone flirting with the limit between panic and impatience, and any words meant to defend herself died on Clarke’s lips when she was faced with the threat of this all consuming anger being directed entirely at her. Whatever had happened had clearly thrown all sense of respect and playfulness this woman ever had out the window.

She went back to the ribbons holding the dress closed and was soon able to free her employer from her confines. There was a clear intake of breath, long fingers ran over a torso now covered only by small clothing, as though to provide a tether to reality. Clarke stood still behind her, waiting. She could see the woman blink back a few tears; close her eyes too tightly. Clarke looked to the fireplace. Octavia was gone.

The maid brought the green dress from the bed, set it on the floor, and helped the lady set her feet inside the hole so she could bring it up her legs and over her shoulders before she fastened the back of it efficiently. Clarke was sweating, frowning, her happy day all ruined and her resolve to end her own hatred for the lady thoroughly put to the test.

“Will that be all, my lady?,” she asked with a tone as cutting and cold as she dared, swallowing back the waves of hurt and anger desperately trying to spill out of her. How had she spent the previous night dreaming of this woman? What a fool Clarke had been, to think there was anything more to her than a privileged, spoiled elitist who looked down on people like her.

“That will be all,” Lady Alexandria repeated, assertive. The lady’s back was turned to her, but she sounded more composed. Angry, still, very obviously so, but less prone to breaking the next thing her hands would settle on. “You’re dismissed, Griffin.”

And so Clarke was. She was out the door before she could even hear the end of that sentence.

* * *

The pans clung with loud noises as they were forcefully set down atop a counter or a table, angry hands grabbing and throwing and tightening around the kitchen utensils in an effort to control the fire in their owner’s eyes.

“I cannot believe this,” Clarke mumbled to herself over and over, aggressively cleaning things that did not need any cleaning, face red and pinched with frustration and shame. Dinner time had come and gone, and she had well and chased most everyone out of the kitchens for the rest of the night.

“Oh, you should have seen her Raven,” her voice raised a little as she looked behind her at the dark-haired lady’s maid who was leaning against the door frame and watching her with concern.

Clarke had been at it for hours, and she was not slowing down. “I suddenly became dirt on her shoe, a fly, something she could just discard and crush because who cares about a lowly maid, right?”

She turned around again, scrubbed the inside of a platter. Her fingernails scratched at the surface, traces of blood coming out of the abused flesh. Her voice became a mumble again. “It’s not like we’re proper humans to those people anyway.” A pause, she looked up. Breathed through her mouth. “God, she’s infuriating!”

Raven came forward, gently, non-threatening, taking great care of not touching the fuming blonde who was unleashing a summer storm upon the kitchens. “Clarke,” she called gently, waiting for those tear-filled blue eyes to come and rest on her. She gestured at the items Clarke was working tirelessly on. “You should put those away, sit down, and breathe for a moment. You have been angry for a while, you must be exhausted.”

Clarke was. She could feel the tremble in her overused muscles, the exhaustion settling in her chest. She let herself be guided to a chair before she leaned her head on her hand. She could not hold Raven’s understanding, soft gaze, so she looked down at the table, tracing the lines in the wood with the tip of her finger distractedly.

“It’s almost eight in the evening,” Raven’s voice was gentle, but Clarke stiffened nonetheless. A kind hand rubbed her shoulder comfortingly. “She’ll be waiting for you soon. Do you want me to help you freshen up before you go?”

Clarke exhaled, sat up, closed her eyes, and shook her head, sniffling pathetically. She should not have gotten so angry. She should not even have been surprised, really. What happened to her was far from unheard of, and yet she had naively come to expect more of the lady with the deep green eyes.

“I’ll be fine Raven, thank you,” she nodded again, as if she was convincing herself. “Thank you for talking me down from it. I think I was tired. You know, with arriving in a brand new place, the stress of everything...”

Raven did not answer, but the knowing, worried look on her face followed Clarke as she went back to her room to wash the anger off her face.

* * *

Clarke poured the hot water she had just had boiled into the bath, before resting her hands on the side of the bathtub, wiping the sweat off her brow. Climbing up and down the stairs with buckets full of hot water was no easy task, and it had taken her mind off the turmoil of emotions in her chest for a little while.

The door opened with a soft click, and in the bathroom walked Lady Alexandria, still dressed in the white and green striped dress Clarke had chosen earlier. The brunette closed the door behind her, her movements perfectly calm and controlled, and the lack of any reaction to what had transpired between the two of them mere hours before baffled Clarke.

The blonde woman shook her head as the lady came to stand with her back before her, and she let her fingers work their familiar task against the fabric, undoing the buttons and the ribbons mechanically. She thought there might have been a slight shiver running across the lady’s skin when her fingers made contact with the bare skin underneath, although there was no way to be certain.

When Lady Alexandria was stripped down to the white shift that constituted her underclothes, Clarke started to undo the many braids keeping the heavy locks away from her angular face before she averted her eyes and let the lady discard the shift herself and enter the hot water. When she deemed it safe to look back up, she was met with a familiar amused smirk and two sparkling green eyes devouring her form, unashamed, and Clarke was not having it.

Feeling her nostrils flare with her renewed anger, the maid ignored her employer’s suggestive behaviour and grabbed the bar of soap to start running it over the dark hair growing against the woman’s scalp. She was not harsh, for she feared that might have her sent away with her luggage and nowhere to go before her first week here was over, but she was not gentle either.

A bubble detached itself from the wet soap, coming to float above the both of them, and Lady Alexandria sat up in the bath to blow it away, plump lips deliberately pushed together in an inviting way, the top of her breasts exposed to the cool air. Clarke clenched her jaw. Hot and cold, hot and cold. She could not play this game anymore, or so help her God.

“My lady,” she called, keeping her tone carefully neutral and distant, her eyes fixed on the wall. “If you would please lie back, so I can wash the soap out of your hair.”

The woman turned around, surprised green eyes taking in Clarke’s hardened, unflustered features. If anything, Clarke thought she probably looked upset, which she knew was not the emotion the brunette had aimed to draw out of her. The lady blinked, looked forward again, frowning, and obeyed, settling back down to allow Clarke to pour water over her scalp. She was disappointed, Clarke could tell. She said nothing.

The rest of the time they shared in the fogged room was spent in silence, Clarke’s hands remaining excessively respectful and professional as she helped the lady towel and dress herself. The woman would try and catch her gaze, trail distracted fingers over the curve of a hip innocently, but it only served to make the maid feel like an object, and did nothing to subside the flames of anger she kept smothered at the base of her throat. _You were employed for your hands, not your brain,_ the harsh spoken words cycled in her mind as she tied the strings that would hold the night robe around Lady Alexandria’s waist.

 _I don’t need you to ask._ Clarke swallowed around the lump in her throat. The anger she would readily admit to, but it was harder to let herself feel the hurt, the disappointment.

Her work completed, the blonde woman turned away from her employer and walked to the door. She turned back in the doorway, waited for her dismissal. A confused, disappointed little frown adorned the brunette’s brow. She looked so similar to a kicked puppy it almost made it hard for Clarke to remember the way she had been treated before.

But she did remember. She remembered Lady Alexandria’s screaming voice and lightning bolt eyes, she remembered sobbing over cleaning brushes in the kitchen, she remembered feeling dehumanized, she remembered. And so, when she was given permission to walk out, it was easier to remind herself that the lady deserved this. _I don’t need you to think._ The pain those words inflicted on her was enough for her to walk away.

* * *

Lady Anya Mary Woods was an early riser. She enjoyed the moist smell of the grass in the early hours after a night of rain, the fresh, unbroken snow covering the world in the dead of winter. Every morning was a new world, a new chance waiting to be piqued at the stem, and Anya was nothing if not a conqueror. As a consequence, she also was in the habit of going up to bed along with the children, eyes ready to close of their own accord after spending such a long time open and seeing.

Thus, it came as a surprise when she heard soft padding in the corridor and the gentle knock of a hand against her door just as she was about to blow her last candle out and slip away for the night.

“Anya?” Lexa’s voice. Biting back a sigh, Anya left the comfort of her bed to let her sister in, gesturing to the bed to invite her to sit. She closed the door behind her, watched the oldest daughter of their family gracefully settle on the ruffled sheets. Her hair was pulled into a loose side braid, and she looked a little sad.

“Is everything alright?”

Lexa avoided her sister’s gaze as she came to sit in front of her. “Yes.” The word was quiet. Petulant.

“Lexa.” She raised an eyebrow in an obvious show of disbelief when the brunette finally met her eye. “How long will you make the two of us sit in silence before you finally decide to tell me what is wrong?”

The woman’s shoulders drew up, down. She looked around the room, uncertainty written plainly on her face. “This is about my new lady’s maid. Griffin.”

Anya sat up, eyebrows lifting in surprise. “What about her?”

The older sister seemed displeased at the interruption, but she merely frowned and resumed. “I think we were getting along rather well up until recently. I found myself smiling easily, she would blush under my gaze...” Anya listened patiently. She knew about her sister’s proclivities, shared in them to an extent, and had engaged in a sort of dalliance with a lady’s maid herself.

Reyes’s dark, dark eyes filled her mind, the teasing smiles, the bold words… But Lexa was confused and distressed, and she had to chase those images away to focus on her.

“Up until recently?” Anya repeated softly, sensing the heart of the issue. “Why? What’s happened?”

“I do not know, really,” Lexa’s voice was breathy. She squirmed uneasily, folded her legs underneath her body, in a manner unbefitting of lady, in an effort to centre herself. “I thought she might have been... open to my advances, so to say, as she did not reject me at first, but she assisted me in taking a bath earlier this evening, and I found all the progress we had made entirely gone. She was distant, and cold...”

Lexa looked small in this moment. Her eyes mountains away, her body curling in. It was a rare sight, even for Anya.

“You must have done something, Lexa.” When her sister looked ready to protest, she drew a hand up to stop her, gentle but firm. “No. I know you, Alexandria, and I’ve seen you interact with people from less fortunate backgrounds often enough to know how grand, proper, and superior you tend to act in their presence.”

The young woman frowned, scratched her arm nervously. “I was a little curt, I suppose, this afternoon.” Her eyes came up to plead for Anya’s understanding. “Mother had just announced she had arranged the date for the wedding in the summer of 1915.” She gulped, her lips trembled. “Anya, I was so angry. I simply – I feel as though I have no control over any of this and I- I mean, I do want to do what is best for the family and the people of Downton, and I will do it without a second thought for I know my duties, but-”

Anya’s reassuring arms were wrapped around her and suddenly there was no more need for words. The dark blonde woman brushed her hand through her sister’s darker locks as she quietly sobbed into her shoulder, both existing in the other’s presence with practised familiarity.

“I know,” Anya whispered gently into the crown of her hair. “I know, Lexa, trust me, I do. But knowing how ‘curt’ you usually are when void of anger and pain, I worry you might not realize how much Griffin could have been hurt by the way you treated her when most vulnerable.”

She helped her sister sit up, held her face in her hands gently, wiped the tears from her cheeks. “Lady, lady’s maid, cook, chauffeur, they’re all people, Lexa, and as such they have feelings. You know this deep down, of course you do, but it is so easy to forget when one lives as we do...”

She watched the brunette sniffle, understanding and guilt entering her expression. She looked defensive still, yet softer, more open than before. Anya exhaled, pleased her message was being heard. She herself had learned much from her encounters with Raven, who had opened her eyes to a world of equality and respect, miles away from the one which had seen her grow.

“Think about what you said to her, whatever that is. Apologize to her, if need be. And remember what I said in the future. Humans have feelings, alright? You cannot expect your lady’s maid to follow your mood swings and bow at your feet with a grateful smile when you do not care for the tone you use when you speak to her.”

Lexa was avoiding her gaze once again, shame and guilt gaining ground over her whole body, but Anya called to her attention, gently. “You are not a bad person, Lexa,” Anya whispered. “I know that, but she does not. So very few do, because you act like such a stuck-up.”

When Lexa looked offended, Anya brushed it off with an amused, low bout of laughter. “I apologize for speaking the truth, your Royal Highness.” The moniker drew a reluctant smile from the young woman whose eyes were filled with drying tears.

“Alright, now,” Anya said as she stood up and presented Lexa with a hand out so she could escort her to the door, “If my lady would allow it, I would gladly see myself to sleep.”

* * *

The night had come and gone and left the way to the sun’s autumnal rays, and Clarke found herself in Lady Alexandria’s chambers once again, tending to her in the complete silence they had woven around themselves like an unsaid rule.

The lady had chosen a yellow dress for herself, pale and covering her arms and chest well enough to be acceptable wear for church. She was sat at the hairdresser with the wide skirts draped over her knees, back straight and eyes down on her own hands as she let her lady’s maid arrange her hair for the day. This scene was beginning to feel familiar, and yet it was different each time, the tension vibrating between the two of them changing colours and tastes from one encounter to the next.

Clarke felt empty this morning. The anger had burned its course and left her rather unfeeling, allowing her to focus on her own two hands as they twisted the dark locks of hair, almost failing to notice the woman they belonged to.

They did not speak, they did not see, and the fact alone should have unsettled Clarke for the woman had never failed to try and attract her attention before, but confusion had taken so much of her time in the last few days she felt she might have grown immune.

She picked up the silver comb from the dressing table and placed it in the finished hairstyle carefully before letting a pleased hum pass the barrier of her lips.

“It is done, my lady,” she met the brunette’s gaze in the mirror. She looked small, hesitant. Yet another version of those bottomless eyes Clarke could not help but fall into. “May I be excused?”

She was given a small nod, and turned around to leave the room, smoothing the wrinkles out of her dress on her way to the door.

“Wait.”

The command was fast, too fast, stern but trembling, the tone of someone who was used to giving orders but hesitant to do so now.

“Griffin, I...” The lady looked up to the ceiling, down to the floor, exhaled, closed her eyes. Looked at Clarke. “I wanted to apologize. For the way I addressed you yesterday?”

It was phrased like a question, and Clarke could not stop herself from lifting an incredulous eyebrow.

“I realize I was curt and insensitive, which you did not deserve, and I am sorry I behaved the way I did.” The woman swallowed, turning a little on the chair she sat on. She looked uncomfortable. Clarke’s eyes narrowed, head turning a little. People of Lady Alexandria’s rank seldom apologized. What might have brought about such a change of heart?

Not that she would complain, of course, but the person in front of her became more of an enigma with each hour that passed and Clarke had so many questions.

“Why?” She spoke before she could think, hearing her own voice before she could have reached any conscious decision. The lady’s gaze was questioning, and the damage was done, so Clarke inhaled steadily and explained herself. “Why did you act so ‘curt’, as you put it?” And then, the silent question they both heard. _What’s happened?_

“Do you remember Mr. Finnegan Collins? A man with brown hair around the ears, he was here the day you arrived. You might have seen him.”

As a matter of fact, Clarke did remember. She had watched him walk through the gardens with Lady Alexandria at his arms and heard the family of the estate speak of him as the lady’s betrothed several times during meals. She nodded, tentative, and motioned for the brunette to resume.

“Well, as I’m sure you’ve gathered, I am to marry him. He is the heir to Downton Abbey, as I am a woman and have no brothers. As such it is my duty to join with him and protect the people and the lands my family has watched over for hundreds of years.” She looked up and met Clarke’s eyes, her gaze turned serious and resolved and wise, seas of green waters housing the secrets of a world the blonde could only see from afar.

Lady Alexandria hesitated once more, breathed, watched Clarke’s still form from the corner of her eye. “I wish to accomplish my duties and protect those who were rightfully placed under my care. But though I will have to, I have no desire to marry Finnegan, nor any other man.”

Clarke had guessed as much, and so she merely blinked, offering a silent understanding in lieu of a response, and the woman’s breath came out with the sound of relief.

“My mother, sister, and I were out on some errands yesterday, and she spoke of the wedding and the date she had set, the preparations she had begun to undergo, and I was merely overwhelmed.” She looked out the window, unseeing. Her voice was low now. “It all felt so real and tangible all in one moment, and I had failed to realize how unprepared I was to hear those words spoken.”

She looked to Clarke again, eyes softening. “And you were there when I walked into my rooms in search of a sanctuary, looking at me with those blue eyes always brimming with a question, and I did not think. It is no excuse, and I apologize dearly, but I thought you deserved an explanation. I understand if you have no wish to improve a friendship I set into flames before it could ever bloom.”

A new emotion had entered the lady’s expression beside the sadness and the guilt, and Clarke’s chest constricted as she realized what it was. _Vulnerable_. The woman looked vulnerable.

Clarke swayed a little on her feet, choosing to ignore for now the feeling that had taken to her chest at the mention of her ‘blue eyes’ coming from this woman. Lady Alexandria, the ice queen and the wildfire, was looking at her with fear in her eyes, as though the lady’s maid was the one holding all the power, and it was becoming harder to think.

In the end, she followed her instincts, acting on an impulse as she so often did, and walked up to the chair the woman was sitting on to take a cold hand between her own and squeeze it gently. “I accept your apology, my lady. I appreciate it.”

The look that bloomed on the brunette’s angular face at the words could not have been described. Clarke gently let go of the hand. “Although you should know I was deeply hurt by what happened yesterday, and expect you to understand I will not be forgiving should it occur again.”

“It won’t,” the lady said too fast, and Clarke tucked her chin down to hide an amused smile. She liked the teasing grins and the seductive looks, but this soft, vulnerable woman brought out a whole other set of feelings Clarke would rather not dwell on. Feeling a smirk of her own bloom on her lips, Clarke made her way to the door once again.

“We shall see then,” she let the amusement transpire in her voice. “I agree to let you try and gain my friendship, my lady, if you are up to the task.”

“Lexa.” She was about to leave when the word was uttered, gently, softly. She looked up, hand on the handle, eyebrows lifted in surprise. Had she really?

“Please, Griffin, if we are to be friends I hardly see how you might keep calling me ‘my lady’ when we are in private. My sisters call me Lexa, and I should like for you to do so as well. As a show of goodwill.”

Clarke’s grin was wide and true this time, and the brunette looked as though the breath had been knocked out of her.

“Alright, _Lexa_ ,” the blonde’s lips wrapped tentatively around the name. She liked it. “I shall see you later, then.”

And with that she was gone, unaware of the longing eyes watching her retreating form.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed it please consider leaving a comment, I'm sure I'm not the only one feeling disconnected from the world, let's support each other. :)  
> (for those of you who might be wondering, I'm turning 20 today! 🎉)  
> I love you, take care of yourselves and stay safe everyone! We'll get through this together.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi Kru,
> 
> I hope everyone is staying safe, and quarantining merrily for those who can! Here is chapter 3 of Pas de Cœur, which I'm quite happy I managed to publish in April. (I'm trying to set a goal for myself of publishing one chapter a month, as they're a bit long and it takes time to write. Hopefully I can somewhat stick to the schedule!)
> 
> As always, a huge thank you to my beta eris223; I can't tell you how grateful I am for your help! I ask way too many questions and you don't even complain haha (I'm so sorry :'3). Thank you again for your patience, you're really great!
> 
> Plus warm thank you's to les Ju's, whose comments and advice are helping with the little details and the general engineering a lot. Love you to pieces. (social distancing hugs sent your way) 
> 
> Finally, thank you for the response I have received for this fic so far, the feedback has been heartwarming and your comments never fail to make me smile. :) 
> 
> Thank you, thank you! 
> 
> Now, happy reading :D

> _“The lady doth protest too much, methinks.”_
> 
> ― William Shakespeare, _Hamlet_

_**Early December, 1913** _

A month had passed. A month of quiet nights and shy smiles, of cold winds singing about the trees and of orders that sounded like questions. A month of avoided stares and hesitant tones, careful interactions filled with the gentle warmth of two people beginning anew.

The sun was burning bright above the estate, a last breath of warmth before winter claimed the skies for a time. Breakfast had come and gone, and the lady had seen it fit to go for a walk around the gardens to capture those last rays of light in earnest. Clarke had fetched her coat, helped her to fasten it, and was unsure as to how she’d found herself walking beside the brunette, two lone figures separated by a gap the size of an automobile. There were no more birds singing at this time of year, and the blonde mourned their songs, longed for them to fill the silence. It was not tense per se, but it was not comfortable either, and Clarke could not look at her walking partner for fear of combusting with uncertainty.

They went down the path to the little river that ran down the hill, their coats flapping in the wind. There, along the shore, a sitting bench stood, wooden and ancient, part of the décor as much as any tree. The lady came to a stop beside it, a delicate, pale hand coming to rest on the backrest. Clarke waited, finally allowing her eyes to find Lady Alexandria’s still form.

“We used to come here in the summer when we were girls”, Lexa said in a breath, and it was so gentle Clarke almost didn’t hear it against the strength of the wind. Lexa peeled back the hood of her coat, freeing her brown locks in the process, and the sun caught onto them, creating a halo around her pale face. Clarke’s hand clutched at the fastening of her own coat, atop her chest, feeling it tighten and constrict at the sight. She forced a smile, looked away into the forest to find her breath again. How it hurt to look at her.

“Father would walk us down the river sometimes, play with us in the water. Bring us back soaked and grinning from ear to ear. It always rendered Nanny furious.” She gave Clarke a conniving smile, “That is what I loved so much about those days, I think.”

The blonde raised an eyebrow. She grabbed at her skirts, lifted enough to sit herself on the bench. Lexa was looking down at her, an unreadable expression on her face. Sensing the hesitation, the blonde answered with a grin, eyes squinting in the face of the sun. “The furious nanny? I’ve never had one, but I can’t think that would be fun.”

“No, not the nanny,” Lexa’s smile was amused, intimate. She slowly moved around the bench. Clarke looked forward to allow her to sit. “Doing something people did not find pleasing. Doing something I was not supposed to, I suppose. I rather liked the feeling.”

The maid could not help but turn her head and look at her. They were so close now, closer than they had ever been. Without a doubt, they had been close before, as Clarke had dressed and styled the lady’s hair countless times, but they were side by side now. At the same level. Were Clarke to move her left hand a centimetre or two to the left, her little finger would touch Lexa’s. Were she to move her head to the side, her cheek would graze her shoulder. It felt dangerous, freeing, and warm, and Clarke found it hard to hold back the smile fighting to devour her face.

“What about you?”

Clarke had been so engrossed in her thoughts of closeness she failed to register the question at first, levelling the brunette with a confused stare. “Your childhood. What was it like? You mentioned you had no nanny, as I figured would be the case.”

The blonde’s focus fell on her hands, which started fidgeting on the worn fabric of her white apron. Her mood dampened a little at the words, and she found a strange sadness trying to make its way into her chest. It confused her to no ends.

“I wouldn’t think there’s much to be said about it,” she looked up. Lexa’s gaze was calculating, searching her eyes thoroughly. “I grew up on a farm. Had a younger brother, he will inherit the farm. I kept the sheep, milked the cows...” She shrugged. “But I was lucky, actually. I had an old aunt who’d been a lady’s maid, she took me in when I was eleven or twelve, trained me.” She scratched her nose, inhaled and looked up, trying to mask her embarrassment. How pale her memories were, how devoid of anything the lady had known.

She felt a touch on her left wrist, her eyes flew down to watch as Lexa’s fingers gently inched onto her skin. Hesitant eyes were waiting for her own. “It must have been hard. To work so much.”

Clarke’s lips tried to stretch of their own accord, but she confined her amusement to the blue of her eyes. “I suppose so, yes.” The lady was trying, and so she would not laugh. She wouldn’t. But oh, did she want to. “Although I’d never known much else.”

She looked in front of her once more, intimately aware of the soft touch of Lexa’s fingers lingering on her wrist. She sat up a little, stretched her spine, closed her eyes. A smell of pine lingered in the air, mixing with the scent of frost and cold, cold suns. They had fallen into silence again. Somehow, this once, she felt glad for it, and revelled in the comfort of the lady’s hand on hers. She would think of the consequences of such feelings some other time.

She heard Lexa sigh, felt her shift a little, but her hand remained in place. Clarke’s eyes fell open and rested on the river. She watched the course of the water as it went along its ancient path. How many before her had sat here, witnessed the race of the stream, and wondered about tomorrows and the colour of someone’s eyes?

***

“Your turn. Go ahead.”

Clarke watched as Lexa’s hand went to the deck sitting halfway between them on the wooden table, a playful smile dancing on the brunette’s lips. She drew a card, added it to her hand, and settled back into the dossier of the chair, mirth brightening her eyes.

“Right, well, I’m not playing this round.”

Clarke lifted an eyebrow, her own grin widening. “Oh, are you not?” She sat back as well, one hand dangling off the armchair. They looked at each other, appraising the other, trying to read the other’s expression.

The night had set a few hours before, the dinner passed and gone, and the two women had found themselves sitting around Lexa’s small chamber table after preparing the lady for bed, helping themselves to a game of cards. It had become a ritual of sorts; one they partook in every other day. They had agreed to be friends after all, and Clarke could hardly refuse those pleading eyes.

The blonde brought the cup of tea Lexa had graciously offered to her lips, delighting in the sense of foreign normalcy she felt at playing cards and drinking tea with a lady. They were sitting face to face, their eyes at the same level, both with beverages in their hands with matching clouds of heat escaping into the room.

She swallowed slowly, the liquid burning its way down her throat, and watched Lexa’s gaze follow the movement with distracted attention. Hiding a smirk in her cup, the maid cleared her throat and sent Lexa’s blood flaming up to her cheeks. She drew a card and added it to her own hand. A four of hearts, perfectly useless. But she smiled and set the tea down.

“Why then, I believe I might have to play if my lady will not.”

Lexa looked at her, remnants of red lingering on the skin of her cheeks, and laughed quietly at Clarke’s behaviour. The blonde set a pair of cards face down onto the table, holding a plain challenge in the blue of her eyes for the woman to see, and waited.

They stared again. Lexa’s finger twitched around her cards, her eyes plunging into Clarke’s own, searching for a sign. The blonde held still, barely breathing. But then the lady smirked, looked down at the table, and set her own cards down.

“I am calling your bluff, Griffin.”

A frustrated sigh made it past Clarke’s lips before she could stop it, and she set her hand down aggressively. “How does this always happen?”

She looked at the ceiling with a groan, and Lexa burst out in laughter, watching Clarke from her side of the table with amusement - and something else that made her maid’s belly flip. The blonde glared at her, eyes narrowed. “I’m being quite serious, this is starting to feel unfair. Do they teach you to read people like that from childhood, or is it just you?”

Lexa’s laughter had to be partly drowned in the tea, and the brightness of her eyes soon had Clarke laughing along with her, gripping at her own face in frustration. “Alright, well, keep all your secrets if you will, it is getting late. I shall have to leave you to rest.”

The blonde stood up with a sigh, shook her head, and met the lady’s eyes. She had such a peculiar gaze, such an odd way to look at Clarke, and it had changed so drastically over the last few weeks that the maid could barely wrap her head around it. It used to be contempt, desire, and disregard. But there was friendship now, burning like a little star among the trees of Lexa’s eyes, amusement and affection, wrapped around the thorns of guilt and curiosity. No matter what it was, it never failed to send shivers down Clarke’s spine.

“I suppose it makes sense for you to flee the evidence of your failings.” Her lips were pink, full of a teasing grin, and Clarke could barely look away. The words they parted to let through were tainted with the barely concealed colour of longing. “I shall see you tomorrow, then.”

She stood as well, and they were face to face. They stayed still for a time, both unsure what to say, tense and happy and confused, their defying gazes planted firmly into each other. Then the sounds of a servant’s footsteps were heard padding along the corridor, and Clarke was pulled out of her daze. She walked to the door, turning her back to Lexa, and squeezed her eyes tightly shut to try and regain control of herself. She looked back, smiled at the woman who stood soft and vulnerable in her night clothing. The maid opened the door.

“Goodnight, my lady.”

A small grin.

“Goodnight, Clarke.”

***

The morning came with a curtain of rain, the sounds of the weather lulling the kitchen into quiet comfort. It was early yet, the family remained asleep. Mrs. Forrest and Octavia had been working on the breakfast for a time.

Clarke was sat at the wooden table, head propped up on her fisted hand, dozing off as she watched them move about. Raven had gone to fetch water earlier, she would be back soon, and the men were getting dressed. This was the carefully choreographed dance of the servants, set to the rhythm of the song of rain.

The lady’s maid looked down at her right hand, tapped her fingers over the wood lightly. She sighed and closed her eyes for a second. Her body felt far away, covered in lead, exhausted in the early hours of morning, and would only become quite her own once movement was required of her.

Indra opened the oven, and the smell of freshly baked bread invaded the small room. Clarke shivered in delight.

“It’s perfect, ain’t it?” Octavia broke the settled silence with her excited voice. “I did say I could do better!”

Soon she had her hand reaching for it, but before Clarke would witness yet another scolding from the strict Mrs. Forrest, the door opened to reveal Raven and her bucket of water.

The dark haired lady’s maid grinned at her friends and colleagues, ignoring the usual banter between Indra and Octavia, and Clarke stood up to help her place the water over the fire. They stayed still for a minute or two, watching it heat to the right degree, the two other women arguing somewhere behind.

“This is for Lady Anya’s bath, but I can fetch some more if you need any.”

Clarke looked up at her friend’s face and shook her head absentmindedly. “Thank you, but it’s alright. Lexa prefers to bathe in the evenings.”

She did not notice what had come out of her mouth until she met Raven’s doe eyes. They were wide as saucers.

“Oh, I mean-” blood raced to her cheeks, so much of it and so fast that she could hear her heart beating in her temples. “Lady Alexandria. I- She’s asked me to-” Raven’s features were rapidly shifting from shock to amusement, and Clarke was panicking. “It’s not – oh, Reyes, do not look at me like that! Dear God, what have I done.”

“Lexa, huh.” A full smirk had blown over her lips. She gestured towards the bucket of water, and they pulled it up and away from the fire. “She lets you call her that? ” It was not truly a question; Clarke did not answer. “I knew it.”

Clarke finally looked up, bright and red. “Knew what?”

Raven shook her head, clearly enjoying herself, and proceeded to wholeheartedly ignore Clarke’s inquiry. “Lady Alexandria would not give her familiar name to say to any servant, trust me. She thinks herself too holy and important to allow such things.” Raven set the bucket on the floor, and the motion sent a renewed cloud of heat into the air.

“It’s evident in the way she looks at you. She’s discreet in most things, I suppose, she does nothing much that could count as proof, but those eyes?” She finally looked at Clarke, still shaking her head. Her voice had dropped to quieted murmurs some time ago, mindful of the cook slicing up the bread behind them. “Octavia and I call them heart eyes.” She watched Clarke’s face for a reaction, and was not disappointed when the other maid hit her arm with an embarrassed scowl. Raven dodged, giggling, before levelling her friend with a softened gaze. “It’s like you put the stars in the sky, one by one, and then forbade her to look at them. It’s quite something.”

It was too early in the morning and Clarke did not know what to do with all this. She hugged herself, licked her lips, let her arms drop back down to play with the hem of her apron. Cleared her throat.

Then she mumbled something under her breath about needing to prepare for the day and left the kitchen with her cheeks still flaming, exiting to the sound of Raven’s laughter.

***

The moniker stuck, and Clarke’s blush returned each time someone whispered “Lady Heart Eyes” when passing her in the corridors.

***

The rain had gone, and Clarke was hungry. A rush of cold air brushed her hair off her shoulders as she went up the stairs to the servants’ quarters. She tightened her hold around her shawl, shivered. December had well and truly bitten into the world.

The door to her room swung open with a push of her hand, and she stopped on the step, startled. She was not alone.

There, before the little desk she called her own, a woman with familiar curls stood with her back to the entrance, dressed in a long grey skirt which flowed down to her ankles. Clarke cleared her throat.

“Oh.” Lexa turned around abruptly, half hiding the desk with her body, guilt and shame brightening the skin of her face. “Griffin.”

The maid lifted one of her eyebrows expectantly. “My lady? Were you looking for something?”

The woman wasn’t exactly forbidden from being in this room, as it was part of her family home, but entering someone else’s space remained somewhat of a taboo, and Clarke could see the regret at being caught in her fleeing eyes.

“You, actually,” the lady admitted in a sigh, shrugging in an attempt to appear nonchalant despite the tension in her shoulders. “I was wondering if you’d want to join me for a game of cards, and I thought I might find you here. I should not have stayed once I saw I was mistaken though, and for that I apologize.” The maid nodded, accepting the apologies, keeping her features carefully neutral so as to show this was not the kind of behaviour she encouraged.

How the tables had turned.

They stood in awkward silence for a minute, and Clarke was about to agree to the cards – she was not pleased with the intrusion, but she’d truly come to enjoy and seek the banter and the ease which came with their games – when Lexa’s mouth opened hesitantly. It closed again, opened, her eyes flew somewhere to the left. Clarke waited patiently, a fond smile already blooming on her lips.

In the end, she blurted it out: “I saw your drawings.”

Whatever Clarke had been expecting to hear coming out of the lady’s mouth, this was not it.

“Oh,” Clarke tilted her head a little to the side, her eyebrows furrowing in a contemplative frown. “You’ve seen my drawings.” She waited for a moment, but when Lexa’s face did not budge from her nervous appraisal, the maid shook her head. “What of it?”

“I did not know you to have such talents,” Lexa said, her voice coloured in a softer tone, something pale and yellow and blue and full of gentle admiration. She gestured to the desk behind her, where the sketches were. “These are beautiful.”

Clarke walked briskly past her to arrange some things on the desk which did not need arranging. She had a blush to hide, hands to occupy, and a mind to take off the feeling of those eyes burning into her back.

“Thank you,” she finally answered when she felt enough control slide back into her grasp that her voice would not tremble. “I appreciate it.”

She flipped a book over in her hands, set it on the little shelf, filled her lungs with a quick breath of courage and turned around to smile at the woman whose ‘friendship’ was unlike any she’d known before. “So, did you want to play cards?”

She expected the brunette’s lips to erupt into one of her beautiful grins and for her to lead the way back to her rooms, but instead she bit her lip and looked at the floor with a strange look in her eye.

Clarke had weeks of experience now, it was absolutely normal for her to know how to read her face. Anyone would, at this point. It had nothing to do with staring, or paying particular attention. Of course not.

“Did you want to ask me something?”

Lexa’s surprised gaze flew up to meet hers. She quickly recovered, but she looked at her maid slightly differently. “I – yes.” Her hand fidgeted slightly against the brown belt at her waist. “I was wondering if you might draw me.”

Really, Clarke should not have been surprised. Lady Alexandria, gorgeous, well spoken woman, with servants at her beck-and-call and a future of nobility titles, a fortune and an estate, had practically been birthed and raised to be made Narcissus’ heiress. But Clarke’s lips did part in shock, because if anything, Lexa was proud. Asking for your own portrait instead of hoping to be drawn unprompted was not an opportunity Clarke thought she might pass on.

But here Lexa was, hoping and nervous, gentle eyes fleeting over Clarke’s expressions like they were holy scriptures, and the maid could not help the flood of affection which came to her chest like a home fire in the dead of winter. She nodded, a small smile passing through her staggering barriers, and the grin that took over Lexa’s face in response was such a sight it was worth everything (not that Clarke minded having an excuse to stare).

***

Clarke did draw Lexa. Several times. With pencils and charcoal and paint, on paper and canvas, in the corners of notebooks. Her face, her jawline, her _eyes_ , the curve of her neck and the look of her hands. Prompted and unprompted, when she knew and when she did not – those were the drawings Clarke liked best.

***

One time, Lexa wore pants and Clarke drew her so. Mama saw the resulting portrait laying on the bed, and they could not stop giggling and shushing each other when they heard her scandalized shrieks from across the hall.

***

A naked fir tree sat in the hall, tall and green, giving a giddy spring to the steps of the servants who went around the house with their arms full of tinsels and baubles.

Christmas was drawing near, and with it the nostalgia of Decembers past, the pied memories of songs and choirs, of fireplaces in little farms filled with familiar faces.

The clock would soon strike six, and Clarke had been transporting ornaments up and down the endless sets of stairs for hours on end, her abused fingers screaming around their hold on the umpteenth box of the day. Raven huffed in front of her as she held onto the other side of the large package, their matching breath patterns coming out in puffs as they slowly made their way down the steps. Octavia passed by them on her way to the second floor with an encouraging smile, smoothing both of her momentarily free hands over her apron in an effort to get the blood flowing back into her fingertips.

“I’m going to bring down the mistletoe crowns, don’t bother!” she said as she climbed the stairs, looking back at the two of them before she was out of view.

They reached the centre of the hall and set the box down for a moment, both resting their hands on their lower back and wiping the sweat off their faces. Clarke’s eyelids fluttered shut as she swallowed air like water, her body aching with exertion. When she opened them again, Raven was staring at her with a smirk.

Clarke immediately flushed, and looked around the room until she found Lexa’s slim form up on the indoors balcony that went around the room, her attention fixed firmly away from the lady’s maids. She appeared to be counting the gems on the chandelier, but from the twitching of her eyebrows and the way her knuckles clenched around the railing, Clarke could tell it had not been so for long.

“She’s been finding excuses to come around here all day,” Raven’s teasing tone pulled Clarke away from her contemplation. Their voices were kept low, weary of the bustle of servants around them. “I don’t think she’s enjoying your special Christmas duties. Takes you away from her outside mornings and evenings...Terrible, isn’t it?”

Clarke swatted at her arm, swallowing a pleased smile and the red in her cheeks. “You’re incorrigible. Behave, will you?”

They picked the box back up after a moment. The muscles in Clarke’s arm screamed and she bent forward into the weight, sighing heavily. Raven had a bad leg, injured in the course of her childhood as an orphan working on a farm, and her ability to carry and share the burden of the package was limited. She adjusted her grip and gave her friend a grin of sympathy, before her eyes darted up again and came back to Clarke with a mischievous glint.

She made a show of turning around to gape at the naked tree with a loud gasp.

“Oh dear!” she exclaimed under Clarke’s crimson glare. A few heads turned to look at them, but she did not look up to check if her favourite pair of green eyes had shifted their focus as well. “I cannot believe I forgot to bring her Ladyship’s favourite golden stars! Oh Griffin, that simply won’t do. I have to fetch them now.”

She looked around the room, narrowing her eyes dramatically, and though some of the maids and footmen did have free arms, she sighed, eyebrows arched in a desolated pout.

“Everyone of the servants has a task to complete, of course...” Clarke’s lips had begun to stretch of their own accord and she stifled her amusement by keeping her head firmly down.

“Oh, my lady!” Raven looked up at the young aristocrat leaning over the railing as though she had only noticed her there now. “There are particular ornaments I need to fetch in haste up in the attic, but this burden is alas too heavy for Griffin to bear alone.”

Clarke heard the woman’s heels clatter down the stairs; click, click, click. Raven’s face was draped in so many veils of exaggerated emotions it was next to impossible for Lexa to not know she was up to something, and yet she was coming down to help.

Clarke’s amused rictus softened into a smile.

Soon the presence at her back was close enough for Clarke to feel the gaze searing through her clothes and she turned her head to watch the lady walk around her, Lexa’s nervous hand picking at the dun felt of her skirt. She wore a wild currant coloured blouse her lady’s maid had picked in the morning, and Clarke revelled in her choice as the silken fabric shifted contrastingly against the pale lines of her neck.

“How can I help?” Lexa’s voice was delicate, ductile. The little white flowers in the back of Clarke’s childhood garden. ‘Weeds’, her mother used to say. Clarke disagreed.

For a moment Clarke could see her parents, young and weary against the light blue sky, Mother’s serious tone and Father’s smiling eyes. She wondered when Lexa had started to remind her of home.

“Take over for me my lady, will ya?” Raven’s hands moved in time to let the lady’s own slide under the box in their stead. “Thank you so much, my lady, thank you.” And with a quick bow and a teasing smile thrown over Lexa’s shoulder, the troublemaker was on her way.

Then their eyes met, and they chuckled. Lexa leaned forward to adjust her grip, sending a soft grin Clarke’s way, and everything was nice and bright.

“Where should we take this?”, the lady inquired, looking around the room at the organized chaos Christmas decorating had made of her home. “I’ve never really taken part in the whole process.”

One of Clarke’s eyebrows climbed a little higher. Of course, she wouldn’t have. Why would a lady ever do anything? Lady Alexandria was a kept soul in a castle of glass, born with iron gloves and a leash to duty.

Clarke felt dizzy with the unfairness of it all.

“Right, follow me.”

Clarke led her through the house, acutely aware of each other’s movements, the package teetering between them. They entered the tea room in a rush of breath, their arms threatening to give out under the weight, and gently bent to place their cargo on the ground.

“The housemaids will take it from here,” Clarke said after claiming her own breath. Lexa was standing close, back hunched as she panted. It looked like unfamiliar plants had taken roots deep in her lungs – which most probably was what it felt like, for ladies seldom exercised.

Clarke hesitated, half turning towards the door. She looked away, turned back around. Lexa was watching her.

Warmth bled into her chest and to her fingertips.

“I suppose I have no need for your help with the box anymore,” Clarke pondered, oscillating on her two feet, her shoulders giving into a half-hearted shrug. “And I’m afraid I have Christmas duties to attend to.”

She inhaled a wobbly cloud. Lexa’s anxious eyes fell to her lips.

“But if you’d like to join me...”

A grin. A grin like the first song of spring.

“I’d like that.”

***

“Silent night... hallow'd night...”

Clarke looked up to watch a footman walk past, his youthful voice wrapping roughly around the familiar words. She had settled in the great hall with the lady to dress the tree for winter, and presently stood on a stool, exchanging tinsels and happy smiles with Lexa. The vast room was teeming with servants, grown children whispering memories of songs under their breath.

The lady’s maid looked down. Lexa’s hands were full of red and white baubles, dangling the ribbons around the tips of her fingers, and her eyes were already up, gazing at Clarke with quiet joy.

Clarke shook her head. She had not felt so light and gay in such a long time.

“Earth is hushed, Heav'n a-light…”

His voice was terrible but he was giving it his all, forcing gravelly sounds from the back of his throat as he pulled on a string of thin silver tinsels to lay it snug against the top of the doorway. Clarke looked away from him with a wobbly, amused smile, trying to hide the urge to laugh, but met the lady’s equally shining eyes, and their shoulders went up to shake in matching movements of contained chortle, maintaining eye-contact. Lexa’s ears turned pink.

The afternoon went on, filled with Christmas colours and music, and Clarke found herself surprised by how comfortable she had come to feel around the brown-haired woman standing beside her stool. Lexa kept on picking shiny wooden characters from boxes at her feet, presenting them to Clarke, who tied them to branches with tiny little strings. The look on her face made her maid wonder what she’d looked like as a child.

She imagined a small, quiet girl with long brown locks and an uppity tone, long lashes falling over big green eyes; and wished to hug her will all her might.

This was the scene they were found painting when his Lordship came down the stairs with a cherubic smile pushing into his round cheeks, greyish hair falling over tiny ears. He set foot on the last step, looked around the room, and sent a wave of nervous albeit excited whispers to spread among the party of decorators.

Spotting his daughter, he came forward, his husky jollity ringing around the room like the bells of church. His presence, though scarce, carried a comforting authority he wore like a second skin.

“Alexandria!” he exclaimed, plump arms raised in greeting, and Lexa bowed her head with a grin.

“Papa!” she said as he approached. “Do come and see. We've been picking tinsels for the past few hours. I believe I might have prospects in styling trees!”

Her amused tone seemed to bleed into his own and he wrapped a large hand around her shoulders, kissing the air above her head.

“How glad I am to see you so full of joy,” he answered in a lower voice, meeting her gaze. He looked to the side, took in the lady’s maid perched on a stool and watched the pair of them with eyes rounded by curiosity. His features tightened imperceptibly, blanched for a second, but the expression was fleeting enough for Clarke to wonder if she’d imagined it.

He was a smiling man with a childlike love of life, easy to take for a fool, but clear intelligence came to brighten his eyes every once in a while. It never failed to remind Clarke to remain on her guard.

He blinked and tilted his head to the side, appraising her intently. In this moment, he looked like an older Lexa, wisened and weary of duty, giving into the smiles that tickled at her cheeks without clenching her teeth.

“Griffin, is it?”

Clarke startled at the address, nodded with a quiet, “yes, my lord.”

Then he turned to Lexa once more, smile broadening. “Such a happy thing to be friends with one’s personal servant! I was so close to my own valet back in the time of my youth. Such a lively lad, used to have such laughs. Binnigan, his name was. See? I remember.”

Lexa’s smile had dimmed a little, but she nodded politely as her father babbled on. His loud and cheerful voice quickened the steps of those around them.

“Good thing you’re here, Griffin,” he did not look up again, already turning around to go on his merry way, but not before he gave Alexandria a pointed look. “Friendship, the true balm for the soul. God knows my daughter needs a friend.”

With those words he was off, leaving behind said daughter with fleeing eyes, crimson cheeks, and a maid drinking it all in.

***

Time hied away and they had to part ways in the evening, Lexa to dine with the family and Clarke to tend to said dinner from the kitchens down the stairs of the house. But soon dinner was through, and Clarke left the kitchen with a bucket full of hot water, the steam flying up to her face unpleasantly as she carried it up the stairs.

When she entered the bathing room, the lady was already waiting, standing beside the half full tub in a silken robe. Her hair was loose and free to fall in waves down her shoulders and back, the light brown of its ends meeting the aqua material in a soft contrast. Her gaze was down on the water and her face looked soft and bare. A rare sight, even for her lady’s maid, who paused in the entrance for a second to watch her with a small smile.

Then she pushed her way past the door and dragged the bucked to the tub, successfully catching Lexa’s attention.

The woman’s features brightened as she came in. Clarke poured the bucket’s content into the tub and watched the fog of heat rise intently. For all her effort, there was no way to ignore the wave of warmth taking her body by storm.

“Do you need any help?”

Lexa shook her head softly, and long fingers fell on the knot in the front of her robe keeping it closed over her body. Clarke looked away respectfully, as she always did, and waited to hear the familiar sounds of moving water and skin sliding against porcelain before she grabbed a bar of soap and sat on the wooden stool beside Lexa’s head.

Both her hands slid into the water with the soap, gathered white bubbles around the fingers before they wrapped around Lexa’s hair, darkened by the water, and started to stroke it clean.

Those nights were mostly spent in comfortable silence, save for the lady’s occasional sighs of pleasure as skilled fingers massaged her scalp, and so did this one begin. Clarke hummed very softly, and Lexa’s eyes were closed, her hands slowly lifting up and down, in and out of the water, to feel its smoothness between her fingers. The lady was the one basking in the water, and yet the tantalizing voice of the blonde at her back made it clear which of them was the maid of the sea.

Sometimes a pale hand would wander down, slightly, towards the back of a slender neck, and both bodies had to suppress shivers.

It was a matter of minutes before Lexa cleared her throat, disrupting the deep and heavy comfort they had fallen into, lulled by the warmth and the sounds of water. The sound hadn’t been loud, but it was enough to startle Clarke, who sent the bar of soap flying down to the floor with a stroke of her hand.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Clarke mumbled under her breath as she bent down to pick it up, still wrapped in their shared cloak of silence and weary of speaking too loud. “That was clumsy; you startled me.”

Lexa did not answer at first, so Clarke went back to work, passing her soaped up hands through the soaked locks.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something,” the lady finally said. This time Clarke was prepared for it, and the soap remained firmly within her grasp. “You know what Papa spoke of earlier, about us being such good friends?”

Distracted by her work but listening nonetheless, Clarke hummed noncommittally. She set the bar of soap down on the counter, and started scooping water inside her hands to pour over the soap-filled hair.

“I do value your friendship, Clarke. I hope you know that.”

That made the maid stop. Hesitating, her hands hovered over the hair for a second or two, unsure how to respond. She was flattered, of course, but way out of her depth, and oddly uncomfortable with the term. _Friendship_. Was that what they shared?

(was that _all_ they shared?)

“Why, thank you, my lady,” the title was uttered in a teasing tone which drew a soft chuckle from the other woman. Then, in a gentler tone, “I value it as well. Truly.”

There was another still moment. It was odd, to be in such a familiar position, Lexa facing away from her, and yet to have such a conversation.

The lady drew in a deep breath.

“I -” she started, then stopped. One of her hands came up to touch her face, but Clarke could not see it. She shifted in the water. Her shoulders were tense. “Although you are the dearest friend who wasn’t a sister of mine I have had in a very long time - and I insist on the matter - I cannot help but wish for you to be more.”

Clarke froze.

It was one of those moments in life where something burns behind your eyes, and you feel away from the moment. Someone else’s hands were covered in remnants of soap, Clarke’s were not. Someone else sat on this wooden stool in this little water room, Clarke did not. Someone else, someone else, someone else.

Lexa had also gone very still. She did not appear to be breathing, her hands clenched tightly around the tub’s edges as she waited, her knuckles white with pressure.

Suspension.

Then suddenly the world came rushing back in with overwhelming speed of colours and sounds, and Clarke was left to take a deep breath, and to gather her shaking hands in the safety of her own lap.

And slowly, the words sunk in. _A dear friend_. It was far from cold in the room but she shivered, a brew of feelings spiralling in her stomach. _More_.

Lexa’s figure drew up slowly until she was sitting up in the cooling water, her own trembling limbs supporting her on either side of her hips. Her womanly hips. Womanly legs, womanly features. A woman, as Clarke was.

How dangerous, she thought. How very dangerous, she knew. But Lexa was turning around and the top of her breasts were out of the water, tiny drops falling down her skin, and Clarke could hardly breathe.

Their eyes met, and Clarke wondered whether she looked as conflicted as she felt. Their eyes met, and Lexa’s eyes darkened.

“Clarke...”

Had it been possible for the maid’s body to shiver any more than it already was, it would have. Inevitably, her eyes fell on the mouth that had just closed around her name. Her teeth came to bite into her own, shoulders drawing up - then suddenly the brunette was leaning forward, and their lips were touching.

They both exhaled like a single lung. Eager hands came to wrap themselves tentatively around the other, fingers tangled in locks of hair, ran along expanses of skin, clutched at the other’s back to pull them impossibly closer together. Clarke grasped a shoulder, tight, tighter. Released it with a sigh, afraid of leaving a bruise, only to let her hand wander up to the arch of the neck.

All thoughts of danger had been flung out the window, and she was ecstatic.

Lexa’s wet hand pressed against her cheek, under her chin, guiding her against her lips, and Clarke could not get enough of the taste that lingered there, subtle and particular, like the laboured pattern of her quickening breath -

A knock on the door broke them apart as quickly as they had unified.

“Lexa?”

Anya’s voice.

They both sprung into action, the lady standing up and the maid fetching a towel.

“I’m here!” Lexa exclaimed as she wrapped herself in the soft material, exchanging wide-eyed stares with Clarke, both torn between panic and joy. “What is it?”

Clarke walked to the chair in the corner to gather the night clothes in her arms, taking them to the woman drying her body beside the tub. They had been careless, the floor was covered in puddles. They tugged the black shift over Lexa’s head together, a familiar synchronicity acquired in the past few weeks.

“Papa wants to see you.”

Then the sounds of Anya’s footsteps echoed down the corridor, farther and farther away until she was gone.

Lexa looked at Clarke, and Clarke looked at Lexa. They burst out laughing, the kind of laughter that comes to release the pockets of tension built under the skin, and leant onto each other for support. They were so loud their bodies shook and Clarke had to bend forward to brace her hands on her knees while Lexa held her aching stomach, mirth tumbling out of them in waves and hiccups.

They came back to themselves eventually, regarding each other with happy, strangely shy smiles, and Lexa sighed, wrapping the bathrobe back over her night clothing in preparation for the meeting with her father. She placed her feet inside the slippers waiting by the door and pulled on the handle to make her escape.

Clarke grabbed her arm before she could go, red flushing her cheeks, and placed a quick peck on her lips, before she ran away in a rustle of skirts and giddy smiles.

***

The sun was beginning to raise its golden head above the trees when Clarke walked down the corridors of the house, still fumbling with the knot of her apron. It was unusually early still, but she was eager, and she had barely slept a wink of the night.

There was a new spring to her steps as she went, a glint to her eye, a rush to her heart. She could feel it fluttering inside her chest, pressing and beating, sending blood to paint her cheeks rose. It hurt a little, and it was perfect.

The corridors were empty save for the occasional early bird tending to the fireplaces. It felt fresh and pale and blue, one more morning, one more chance – the possibilities were endless.

She turned at a corner. The next corridor was a little darker, the small windows cut out in the inclined wall above her head only let dim rays of matinal light drift upon the walls. She sped up and crossed her arms, hands clasped atop her forearms tightly in an effort to keep the cold out of her bones.

Soon, the familiar mahogany door came into view, and her heartbeat came to dance in her fingertips. Trembling, her fist knocked lightly. Once, twice, three times.

She waited, breathless.

Finally, after what felt like ages, the handle was pushed down from the other side, and Lexa’s beautiful face appeared in the opening, ashen and tired. The state of her hair clearly indicated she had been asleep up until moments before.

Clarke’s arms tensed up in excitement and hesitation, then down, and she smiled shyly at the woman. She looked around at the empty corridors, but pushed her way inside for safety, and carefully closed the door behind her before she turned to place a brief kiss upon the lady’s cheek, red and warm with sleep.

“Good morning,” Clarke whispered with a smile as she drew away, hand stretching forward to gently take Lexa’s.

Except the hand fell back down as though attached to a limp doll.

Clarke then realized it was only joining Lexa’s eyes for they were firmly trailed on the ground, a blank expression on this sleep ridden face.

The maid took a step back.

Her eyebrows lifted of their own accord, and she had to swallow to find her voice.

“Lexa?” she asked tentatively, leaning her head slightly forward to try and see her expression more clearly. She hated how small she sounded.

A small tremor travelled across Lexa’s shoulder, who closed her eyes and wet her lips before she looked up, finally, and sent another tremor coursing through Clarke’s own body. Those eyes were as cold and guarded as they had ever been. Clarke took another step back.

She wanted to call her name again, wrap the question mark around those two syllables, and beg for an explanation with her eyes. They had been so happy, had they not? They had kissed, Clarke was ecstatic, and Lexa had smiled. For God’s sake, _Lexa_ had been the one to kiss _her._ And now she levelled Clarke with the stare of a stranger and truly, was there no end to this woman’s indecisive behaviour?

“Clarke.” The voice was low, firm. Gentle, but neutral, devoid of warmth. It was surgical, it was cold, it was strange, and it confused Clarke to no end.

And really, she should have known. Lexa had always been hot and cold, flirting with her one day and screaming the next, avoiding and seeking, and now she had kissed her it made perfect sense for her to be so cold. Clarke should have known, and yet she had felt such joy cradle her through the night and into the early hours of the morning at the prospect of seeing her again. She hated herself.

The maid had half a mind to turn around and leave right now. Instead, she waited.

“You’re early today.” It was small, it was tired, and it was said in the rush of an exhale. Clarke was so tense she thought her muscles might cramp.

She nodded, once, afraid to use her voice. She could feel it, tight and trembling in her throat, like the chord of a guitar, painful for the pulp of fingers yet unused to playing.

“I...” Lexa started, only to sigh and look away. Her eyebrows were drawn tight together, pinching the skin between. She smoothed a hand down her face, pressed a thumb between her eyes as if to rub the expression away. “I do not think we should proceed with what was discussed last night. It would not be appropriate.” A moment passed. Then, as an afterthought, she added: “I’m sorry.”

 _Appropriate_.

Clarke wanted to burst out laughing, yet her eyes were trying to gather tears she willed away. Betrayed by her body, the maid settled for careful immobility.

Her eyes shot up at the sound of a tremble in the lady’s breath, but by the time the brunette was back in her sight, she looked perfectly composed. Her eyes were on the door, clouded with something indescribable.

None of it made sense. None of it.

Suddenly, fast and terrible like a summer storm, Clarke was overcome by the need to scream. She let her nails attack the soft skin of her palms instead.

“Clarke?” The voice was softer. The maid’s eyes had closed on their own, but when she opened them she had time to see the plain concern in the lady’s eyes before they were mastered again. “I’m sure you can see as clearly as I do why such an arrangement could never work. It would lead to much more sorrow than joy, believe me.”

Those last words sounded more truthful than anything else the woman had said before.

Eventually, the lady’s hands clasped together in front of her chest like she was in prayer, and her shoulder gave a little shrug like she was putting the moment behind them.

“Right. Well, it is early still, but I suppose we might as well begin. We could do something sophisticated. I don’t think we have tried any new hairstyle in a while." Her expression softened into a somewhat cheerful smile. "I may even have time to go down to the library before breakfast this way; it would do me some good.”

She turned around to sit herself at the hairdresser, the same night robe from the night before trailing down to the floor.

Clarke did not answer.

***

The kiss had been made into the design of a loop the night it had occurred, and it had played over and over in Clarke’s mind like a broken record, but the taste and the colour had changed drastically in a short span of time. She now felt bitter anger bite away her sadness as it circled through her brain, the remnants of elation and giddy smiles laying in tatters on the polished floor of Lady Alexandria’s room.

A few days were birthed and killed since the one-sided conversation they had shared, and Clarke had only tried to confront her once.

It had not gone well.

(“It was a mistake, Griffin,” she had said. She could remember the pinched look on her face, the tight pull of her neck muscles. “It will not happen again.” Or, perhaps worst of all, “I do not expect you to understand the importance of reputation for a person of my standing, but I do ask you to respect it, and let us remain true to the place God intended for us in life.” That still made her feel nauseous.)

Today, Master Collins was a guest at the abbey. Lady Alexandria had been in a particularly sour mood in the morning as her hair was pulled up into an elegant braided chignon, and she had barely glanced at Clarke, or only to comment on the slightly loose strands that needed fixing behind her right ear.

Suffice to say, _Griffin_ was quite happy to have gotten away.

Clarke had just gone upstairs to go to the lavatory after helping in the kitchen, and she stood in the corridor outside the washroom when it happened.

Surely coming out of another washroom at the end of the corridor, Mr. Collins spotted her from afar and sent her a dashing smile. He waved, she answered.

This was attention, and his smile made her own lips twitch. When he started to come in her direction, she decided to wait.

“Good morning, Miss…? I’m sorry, I don’t believe we’ve met.”

Now he was up close, Clarke could smell the subtle scent of his cologne, watch the glint in the brown of his eyes.

“Griffin, my lord. Lady Alexandria’s lady’s maid.”

His smile widened, and it sent an odd chill down her spine. She ignored it.

“Oh, wonderful! I was bound to meet you on some occasion, I suppose, considering you work for my fiancée.”

He seemed kind. They spoke for a moment in the empty corridor, familiar sounds of cutlery, platters, and heeled shoes echoing in distant hallways, and Clarke did not realise how close they were standing until his hand was inches away from her face. She blinked in surprise, looking up at him in question, but he only grinned and pushed a strand of fair hair behind her ear. He trailed his fingers down her cheek.

She was hurt. She was lonely. He was courteous.

She let him.

Then she smiled, and the air felt sweeter.

(Perhaps she batted her eyelashes a little, but she did _not_ picture Lexa or wonder what the lady would think of this.)

He looked down at his wrist, where the hands of an expensive watch beat the seconds into minutes, and scratched at the back of his head with an embarrassed sigh, fluffing his ear-long hair to make him look like a sorry puppy.

“I’m afraid I have to go back. They’ll wonder what took me so long.”

“Of course,” Clarke was quick to react, remembering her own duties and the clothes waiting to be washed downstairs. “It was nice to make your acquaintance, Mr. Collins. I think we’ll work well together.”

His smile was crooked and charming. He walked around her to leave, but she heard him a last time before he turned the corner, his head turned to speak over his shoulder.

“Have a great day, Miss Griffin. I’m sure we will be seeing a lot more of each other.”

Clarke Griffin in Pas de Coeur - a moodboard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me on tumblr at @misscamomille !
> 
> Be safe, and take care everyone. :)

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there, thank you for reading! If you enjoyed it, please consider leaving a comment so I can hear from you. :)
> 
> (next chapter is a bit more angsty, and it's longer. I've already written it!)


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